Violet Hill
by once upon a daydream
Summary: When the train she boarded halts suddenly in the middle of nowhere on a suspended track in dead winter, Bella Swan meets five people, people who may change her life forever – especially that lovely flash of bronze and emerald. AH.


It was one hour and fifty-two minutes ago that I boarded the train, destined for Chicago, according to my five year old watch

It was one hour and fifty-two minutes ago that I boarded the train, destined for Chicago, according to my five year old watch. I glanced with a heavy sigh at its scratched, stained glass face, glaring at the tiny hands twitching across the circle of numbers as time stretched on. I had gotten my ticket and boarded this forsaken locomotive in hopes it might inspire me, that the winding, rugged land flickering by beyond the frosty window may be just what I needed to regain my spark to continue on with my novel. Instead, it had the opposite effect; I felt drained, my butt was asleep, I had a crick in my neck, and my laptop lay closed beside me, the Dell logo smiling at me tauntingly.

I was, in short, exasperated. How much longer? We were traveling quite fast – faster than most trains, I imagined, for this was not my first ride – and it seemed as if we should already have arrived. It was probably just the stress of sitting there, bored, lonely, bored, alone, with nothing to do, no one to talk to, nothing to do.. Yes, I was bored. And lonely. Quite.

So far, in the last hour and fifty-three minutes now, the only plus to this situation which had indeed turned out into a complete and utter failure was the snowy scenery blurring past. I had to admit, even in my irritable and chagrined state, that it was beautiful; the northwestern land flying past, coated in glistening white stuff, was very worthwhile. I stared out the window near my head, my eyes probably glazed. They certainly weren't focused, for even that lovely scenery had lost its interest after the thousandth icicle-covered holly-bush, throwing rainbows in the blinding sunlight.

I turned, flipping me so that I sat like a normal person once more, my head leaned languidly against the wall. I was stiff, feeling as if my wrist had been locked into place by a vice. An inescapable yawn later, I looked around me for the millionth time, taking a lingering gander at the passengers boarded upon the same car as me.

The first I noticed was a huge man. Huge was an understatement, for in fact he was monstrous, tight muscles wound across him, his only adornments a muscle shirt and a light jacket and light jeans. Thick brown curls wound tightly from his head, his light brown eyes staring ahead of him at the person sitting opposite his own seat (as he had been doing for about three-fourths of the ride). He was certainly the intimidating sort, and he barely fit in the tiny (in comparison) seat, but his ominous appearance was nullified by the goofy grin usually plastered on his face.

Sitting in front of him, filing her already perfect red nails, was a stunning blonde, of course. Big, deep blue eyes, slender, tall, waist-length wavy locks – she was the epitome of models, the queen of all things divine and beautiful. Her legs were crossed and she was paying no attention to her surroundings, appearing to be much occupied with her nails. She definitely came across as the arrogant, too-good-for-you type; the only thing that made her seem as if she could be touched by someone like me was the way she glanced from under her eyelashes (long, black) at Muscle Man sitting in front of her every so often. Of course.

I turned my head to in front of me, looking with mild curiosity at the little thing sitting a few feet ahead of me on the other seat line. She was minuscule, truly; she was a pixie, a fairy. The only thing she was missing was a wand and a crown, and by the looks of her, she seemed as if she could make one where she sat, for sprawled on the seats next to her and on her lap were many types of fabrics. In her small hands was a needle and thread, her long, small fingers working madly. She wore an expression of mad passion, mixed with a hint of frustration and a pinch of satisfaction. Her green eyes were fixed keenly on the deep blue fabric she was working on, contrasting greatly with her short-cut black hair.

Next to me was a blonde man who appeared to be depressed. He wore neutral colors, his eyebrows puckered and his eyes continually staring ahead of him. His eyes were a dreary but enticing gray, befitting for the mood emanating off of him. His hair flopped in his face and his hands were clasped tightly, the skin over his knuckles white, without fail. Every time I glanced at him (inconspicuously, of course), they were never changed. There was almost a radiation effect from him; when I looked over at him, every single time, I felt a wave of peculiar, almost sad, bored, loneliness. Yes, he was definitely an odd one – and even odder, the more I examined him, the more he seemed stressed.

Last but not least was No Face. He sat diagonal from me, a copy of _Brave New World _held in front of his face. I liked him already, simply for his choice of novel (very good, grim but rewarding), though I never caught a glimpse of his face. He was obviously tall and lean, dressed in a simple button up shirt, coat and jeans. The only details of him I caught were that he had the strangest hair, a bright, startling bronze, and his pale ear. He was by far the most mysterious, simply because of his concealment, even more so than Depressed Boy over there. I couldn't read him; he was an enigma in the car.

I had resorted to analyzing the people here, I thought with another quiet sigh. I almost groaned in frustration. Was it possible for one to go insane in one hour and fifty-nine minutes?

At least it couldn't be much longer now. How had I forgotten to pack a book to read? _Wuthering Heights or_ perhaps _Pride and Prejudice_ both gained a whole new level of adoration from me.

Maybe I should go ask No Face if he has another book, for I just noticed the medium-sized black bag at his feet –

There was a shrill screech, and then the train jolted to a stop, sending all of us to the floor in one sudden lurch. My hand automatically extended outward, it caught my fall, only to break with a sickening snap. On top of this, my leg gave out when it gained impact from the hard, red-carpeted floor and my head crashed with a flash of bronze and startled, wide emerald. I could only gasp, and then all was silent. I was vaguely aware of the thumps and other gasps of the other passengers, but besides my heavy breathing, I was hypersensitive of the throbbing, horrid aching running up my arm. My head throbbed too, though it was nothing in comparison to my wrist.

And then I rolled over, closing my eyes, and sucking in a ragged breath as my hand lay limp beside me. I was conscious, but just barely.

…………

EPOV

I barely knew what was going on in my novel because I kept sneaking peeks at the beauty sitting diagonal from me, her expression tormented, and her deep eyes providing convenient windows to her soul, as pathetic and corny as it sounds. And yes, I'm aware that it is the epitome of corny and pathetic.

Her hair was a wavy, shiny mahogany, falling to her waist. Beside her sat a simple silver laptop. She was pale, but somehow held a delicate pink stain on her cheeks. Her eyes were the most beautiful brown, depthless and lovely as brown eyes often are not. They were a lovely, rich cinnamon color. She dressed simply, and wore no make-up; she didn't need it, of course, because she was too beautiful already, but in a different, unusual way. I made sure to hold my book right at my face so that I could stare at her unnoticed, my eyes wide and my mouth open.

I was definitely pathetic and corny, as well as infatuated.

She kept glancing around as if analyzing the occupants of the car, and when her penetrating gaze slipped to me, I looked away quickly, the back of my neck growing hot. Even though I was clad in a coat, I had goose bumps.

Pathetic. Infatuated. Corny.

Just as I turned my head slightly to look at her once more, peering beyond my worn book, she looked away, turning her attention to the wall. She looked so devastatingly innocent, with her cheeks flushed unheedingly and –

The train stopped, I launched out of my seat, and my head clashed with hers. Was it silly to notice that she smelled like strawberries and freesia? Perhaps, but I did anyway.

I sucked in air, and then I heard it: a stomach-swirling crack, coming from the woman I had collided with. She gasped, fell to the floor with a thud, and rolled over, her hand lying limp beside her.

Her eyes were wide, and the doctor in me kicked in; she had hurt something severely, most likely her wrist, from the sound of that odious crunch as bone was shattered.

* * *

**(: First fanfiction. I hope it was not too confusing or just plain boring, but I'm new to this. Please review if you would like -- it would really make my week to get some reviews. In case you're confused, the gist of it is that Bella, Edward, Alice, Rosalie, Jasper, and Emmett are all on a train that screeches to a halt suddenly on a suspended track (I don't know what you call them, but it's a track that is supported on steel legs in the air -- just imagine them crossing between two monstrous hills, too steep to build a track on and too vast/untravelable to build around. None of them know each other, and I don't know the mechanics of a trainride so forgive me if I'm wrong about anything. Yes, I did research a few things, but still? How valid is the internet? If you were confused, hope that helps.**

**Sorry if Edward seemed slightly OOC, but I wanted to get the point across that he is attracted to Bella, still arrogant, still cocky, still Edward, but just a little different.. If that makes sense. Haha. Anyway, enjoy, review, whatever. love you for reading this piece of hogwash!**

- once upon a daydream, aka annabel


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